


The Biology of Parenthood

by a_frayed_edge



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Blow Jobs, Domestic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fireman!Dean, Jealous!Castiel, M/M, Rimming, Slow Burn, bottom!Castiel, jealous!Dean, kid!fic ish, top!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2579255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_frayed_edge/pseuds/a_frayed_edge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She takes a quick, sharp breath.  “Dean Winchester is my biological father.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tuesday nights are piano lessons so, naturally, his daughter is nowhere to be found.

Castiel Novak stands in the middle of his living room, surveying the lower level of the small townhome, hands on his hips, expression growing increasingly stern.  They had a fight like this last week, when she brought home a pet cricket and, when he explained that insects are creatures of _nature,_ and, as such, belong in the open space of their back yard, she climbed eight feet into the air, half-way up the dogwood tree at the back of the property, refusing to come down unless he relented.  Which, in the end, he had, though it was with no small amount of grumbling and he’d been half-tempted to arrange the cricket’s disappearance.  He can hear “Gremlin” (who was _not_ named by Castiel) chirping away from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen and sighs. 

“Krissy,” he calls, stepping further inside, and hanging his trenchcoat in the hall closet.  He leaves his keys on the table behind the couch, and notes, with annoyance, that his daughter dumped her backpack in the middle of the dining room floor once again, despite the conversation they had just yesterday about that particular bad habit.  But he’s starting to realize, since she turned thirteen, that his advice tends to go in one ear and out the other more often than not.  He knows better than to be offended – “she’s just asserting her independence,” his sister, Anna had assured him – but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t sting any less that he can’t seem to get through a day without another father/daughter skirmish. 

He lifts her backpack and sets it on the table, where it belongs.  “Krissy,” he yells again, allowing his frustration to slip into his tone. 

Finally there’s the sound of someone running above him, and then footsteps pounding down the stairs.  Krissy, or, when she’s in trouble, Kristen Eleanor Novak, appears halfway down the staircase, tugging an ear bud free of its ear.  She’s dressed in simple jeans and a dark blue plaid button-down over a black tee, her long, dark hair pulled up into an unassuming ponytail.  She doesn’t wear makeup or any of those silly butterfly clips or rubber bracelets shaped like animals, and she still manages to be the most beautiful young woman he’s ever seen.  Even when she’s raising her eyebrows at him like _he’s_ in the wrong, which she’s doing now.  “Dude, what?  I’m listening to music.”  She gestures to the headphones as evidence. 

Castiel shoots her a look of pure exasperation and tries to do as Anna suggested in situations such as these, where he is sure he can actually _feel_ his blood pressure rising, and count backwards slowly from ten.  He gets to negative fifteen before he raises his eyes to meet Krissy’s.  He presses his lips into a tight line.  “Your piano lessons with Garth,” he prompts.  When she continues to blink back at him blankly, he adds, “They started ten minutes ago.”

Krissy tilts her head to the side.  “He called and canceled, remember?  His great aunt died and he went to Georgia for the funeral?”

In actuality Castiel has no memory of this whatsoever, but he knows better than to let his uncertainty show.   The list of things he’s forgotten thanks to the long hours at the hospital has been growing with each passing day and after last month’s fiasco, he just doesn’t think he has the strength to face her disapproving frown.  “Right, of course,” is what he says instead.

But Krissy seems to be feeling more charitable than what has become their norm.  She gives him a fond smile, the corner of her mouth twisting up, and rolls her eyes.  “You forgot,” she accuses, but there’s no venom in her words. 

“I did not!”  But she continues to give him an unimpressed look, and he wilts under the weight of it.  “Alright, I did.  I’m sorry.”  He doesn’t bother with the excuse about work because she’s heard them all before but she gives a forgiving shrug anyway before padding down a few more steps.

“I’m starved,” she declares, and the swift topic change is a relief.  “White Castle?”

The burger chain is a Tuesday night tradition, one that started a few years back, when Castiel was still taking on-call shifts at the hospital and found himself scrambling to make Krissy a home-cooked meal at eight o’clock at night.  The night he burned the spaghetti he’d been intending to _bake,_ he’d thrown in the towel and given into the incessant pleas of an eleven year old girl to _“Please, dad, let’s just go get a burger.  I’m literally going to die of malnourishment any second here.”_ The moment they’d laid their eyes on White Castle’s cheese sliders, both of them had fallen hopelessly in love and committed themselves long-term.

Castiel nods and as she jumps the final steps to join him, he grabs his coat from the closet and hands her her own (an oversized, black leather jacket that she requested for her birthday last month). 

“Hey, Dad,” Krissy says as they head out the door.  Castiel pauses to lock the bolt before glancing over quickly, to show her he’s listening.  “Do you think it’d be hard to be a fireman?  Or firewoman?” 

She’s feigning nonchalance and while Castiel doesn’t, nor will he ever, consider himself father of the year, he knows her, and can tell that his answer is important, here.  So he gives the question serious consideration for a moment.  “Well, yes, I’m sure it would be hard work,” he answers, leading the way to the car.  “But I’m also sure it’s very rewarding to those who choose that career path.  Is there any particular reason that you’re asking?”

She shrugs noncommittally as she pulls the passenger door open and slides into her seat.  “No.  I don’t know.”

“Are you considering it for yourself?”

“Maybe.  What would you say if I were?”

“I would say that it’s up to you,” he tells her as he clicks his seatbelt in place.  He starts the car and backs of the driveway.  “I’d encourage you to do your research and look into what kind of education is required, and the hours and that kind of thing.  I think we both know you don’t want to be saddled with a job that requires you to spend all of your time at work.”  It’s a lesson he’s taught her himself, he’s ashamed to admit.  He enjoys his work at Lawrence Memorial, but it doesn’t mean that it’s easy, or that he likes that he has a babysitter who never seems surprised when he calls her to ask her to stay late.  (Krissy’s always insisting that she’s old enough to stay home by herself, especially in the neighborhood in which they live, but Castiel refuses to allow it after dark.)

When she doesn’t reply, he steals a glance, and sees that she has withdrawn her cell phone and is texting at her typical, furious pace.  He’s burning with curiosity, swallowing the words that ask her who she’s messaging, if it’s a boyfriend – or girlfriend, of course – but he knows better than to voice them.  Krissy and Castiel may not share a taste in music or movies, but they’re the same in the ways that count, and there’s no doubt that she inherited his introverted nature. 

He feels his own phone vibrate in his pocket, and he pulls it out when they get to a red light, quickly scanning the message.  It’s from Garth.

_Missed you and Krissy at piano lessons this week.  Tell her I hope she’s feeling better._

Though, apparently, she has a rebellious streak that he doubts he’s ever possessed.

*

By the time they return home he’s too happily full to bring up the lie.  He got out of work on time for once, and though perhaps it makes him a bad father, he just wants to enjoy an evening without hostility worming its way in.  So when she asks him, somewhat apprehensively, if he cares if she goes to her room to watch T.V., he waves away the uncertainty in her eyes and she disappears up the stairs.

He grabs a beer from the fridge and pops open his work bag to withdraw a thick folder that contains all the specs of the new pacemaker Medtronic built and is trying to introduce to the department.  The small size is the biggest attraction, there’s no denying it, and it’s clear, as he begins scanning the papers, that they want their clients to focus on that instead of the longer hospital stay it will require, and that the testimonies from the patients using one are hardly positive.  He’s fully aware that his opinion will mean next to nothing if Zachariah decides that it will be an improvement, but that doesn’t stop him from sending his friend and co-worker, Hannah, a long e-mail detailing all the issues he expects to arise if they take it on.  She’s always had more pull with Zachariah than he has, and he hopes that she will be able to convince him to stick with the options that they already have.

Just as he’s finishing the e-mail, Krissy comes barreling into the kitchen, skidding to a stop when she sees him bent over the table with his phone in his hand.  He looks up and then goes still at the expression on her fair face.  “Krissy, what is it,” he asks, worry curing in his stomach.  There’s unchecked horror reflecting back at him, and she grabs his shirt by the sleeve and clenching it in her hand. 

“Dad, I need to talk to you,” she grits through her teeth.  Then, to his utter astonishment, she takes his hand and weaves his fingers through her free one.  “I did something . . . bad.”

“What did you do?”  He’s genuinely mystified.  Rebellious streak or not, she’s never cheated in school and he’s never gotten a phone call from an irate parent accusing her of bullying.  In fact, if it weren’t for the violent trembling reverberating through her body he would think this was another one of her jokes that he doesn’t get.

“I . . .”  Her voice trails away, her eyes going wide, and suddenly there’s a knock at the door that bangs through the house like a gunshot.  Horror turns to panic in an instant, and she begins shaking her head fearfully.  “No, Dad, please wait, before you go to the door, listen to me _please_ ,” she babbles.  Tears form in the corners of her eyes.

He squeezes her hand and ignores the sound of the doorbell ringing.  “Krissy, whatever it is, you know you can tell me.  I’m your father.  I’ll understand.” 

When she finally seems to realize that he has no intention of moving until he’s heard her piece, she nods slowly to herself and, with a determined clench of her jaw, she faces him full on, allows their eyes to meet.  “The man at the door . . .  His name is Dean Winchester.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard the name before so he doesn’t interrupt, just allows her to continue. 

“And I’ve been messaging him for a couple of weeks now.  Not, like, a lot, you know, just some.  Here and there.  And I think I gave him the impression that you wanted to meet him.  Or that you should meet.  I’m not exactly sure which.”  She gives him an imploring look but he’s still at a loss.

“I’m not sure I understand.  Who is this?”

She takes a quick, sharp breath.  “Dean Winchester is my biological father.”

Castiel never understood the expression ‘like he’s had the rug pulled out from under him’ but now he thinks he gets it.  Because never before has he felt more wrong-footed, more sluggishly uncomprehending than he does at this very moment.  Certainly in the past he and Krissy have discussed meeting her birth parents, but always in the hypothetical sense.  In fact, the last Castiel heard, Krissy was just supposed to let him know when she was ready.  He’d told her there was no pressure, that they wouldn’t investigate unless it was what she wanted but that, also, if she did decide that she wanted to pursue it that he would be behind her one hundred percent.  And now she’s telling him that, for whatever reason, she went behind his back and lied and has been speaking to this man for weeks ( _weeks_ ) without Castiel having any knowledge of the fact.  He thinks he’s going to be sick.  “How,” he breathes.  “How did you find him?”

She swallows nervously and looks away.  “I hacked the adoption agency’s records and tracked down the mother’s name.  Turned out that she died a while ago.  So I started looking for my father.”  She tugs at the sleeves of her overshirt.  “It took, like, a lot of freaking digging, but I found him.  And I know I should have told you,” she rushes to continue.  “I just – I don’t know, it seems stupid now, but I just wanted some time to get to know him before you guys met and–”  Before she can continue, her phone goes off and she types out a quick reply before tucking it back into the pocket of her jeans.  “It was him,” she readily admits.   “He’s wondering why we’re not answering the door.  He thinks something’s wrong.”

Castiel stares back.  “You gave him our address?”

“I’m sorry!  I didn’t realize he would come charging over here in a massive display of male dominance.”  Krissy sighs, and Castiel is reeling right now, can barely tell which way is up, but he can deal with that later because right now his daughter, despite her mistakes, needs him to be strong. 

He summons a smile that feels as heavy as a weight, and says, “So, let’s invite the man inside.”

“Are you sure?”  She looks as forlorn and lost as she did when she was eight and the boys in the neighborhood wouldn’t let her play cops and robbers with them, because she was a _girl_ and the _girls_ in their little game were always the hostages.  (And in fact he’d had half a mind to take it up with their mothers, but his little genius daughter ended up agreeing to be a hostage, and then organizing a mass-escape by all the prisoners and no one ever told her who she had to play again.)

Without bothering to answer, he goes to the door.  He’s trembling a little as he twists the handle, because this is a Tuesday night and he is in no way prepared for this.  He didn’t think this would happen for months, maybe, and now he’s about to lay eyes on the man that fathered his daughter, that was her dad long before Castiel was.

He takes a deep breath to calm himself, counts backwards from ten, and swings the door open.


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn’t even known he’d _had_ a kid, and if that’s not the most cliché thing he’s ever heard in his life then he doesn’t know what is.   
  
In the back of his mind he had figured there was a chance.  That night with Alison had been good – fantastic, actually – but he’d been too drunk to think clearly, a dangerous combination of youth and stupidity, and a condom hadn’t seemed that important.  It’d be fine, he tried to tell himself later, but something in the back of his mind had never really been able to escape the memory of that fateful moment when they had decided to take their chances.  He’d left his number on the nightstand just in case, but he hadn’t heard from her again.  
  
Nearly fourteen years later he got the first e-mail from a girl who’d claimed to be his kid.  He remembers thinking that it had to be some sort of elaborate (and mean spirited, he’d thought at the time) prank of his brother’s.  But Krissy had remained insistent, enduring his initial disbelief with the stubbornness befitting of a Winchester.   
  
 _Do you know this woman,_ she’d finally asked, and when he downloaded the attached photo he’d recognized Alison easily.  It was clearly recent, taken within the last five years or so.  Her dark curls were still thick and soft-looking, her eyes still bright and drenched in amusement.   
  
 _I know her,_ he’d written back.  _How did you get this?  
  
_ _It’s a picture of my mother, Alison Chambers.  She gave me up for adoption right after I was born and my father’s name wasn’t listed.  But I think you might be him.  
  
_ He hadn’t responded for several days, as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea that there was a teenage girl out there, walking around, maybe with his mother’s eyes or a set of freckles to match his own.  He hadn’t given fatherhood any real thought before this, but he found himself getting attached to the idea embarrassingly fast.  
  
So they’d started e-mailing back and forth.  Krissy’s curiosity was boundless, he was quick to discover.  She asked him an endless amount of questions, about his past, about the rest of his family.  Alison, she’d eventually revealed, had died of cancer some years before, so all that was left of her biological family was Dean and the family he had.  He’d been glad to be able to tell her about Sam and his work as a defense lawyer, busting his ass to make sure innocent kids stay out of jail and she’d seemed so impressed, like she was happy to hear her uncle (though they hadn’t used that word yet) was fighting the good fight.  
  
 _What do you do?  
  
_ _I’m a fireman.  
  
_ Krissy was easy to talk to, a trait Dean was certain _he_ hadn’t passed down, volunteering information about her life like she knew how desperate Dean was to hear it all.  And he was, he wanted to know his daughter the way a father should, be able to list off her favorite foods from memory, buy her ice cream when she got her heart broken.  For fourteen years someone else had been raising his kid, and Dean had a lot of time to make up for.  
  
Speaking of Castiel Novak, Dean’s been finding that it’s hard to get a read on the guy.  On the one hand, Dean can’t think of anything more annoying than a douchebag who spends his evenings at work instead of with his kid.  Dean knows exactly what absent parenting can do to a teenager and he can’t help but think that if Krissy was completely happy with Castiel, she wouldn’t have sought him out.  But on the other hand, Castiel must be doing something right if he’s managed to raise such a cool kid.  The kind of kid Dean thinks he’d be proud to call his own.   
  
“But she’s not yours,” Sam had pointed out to him over lunch that afternoon.  “I mean, you don’t know anything about this girl.  She could be a con artist or a criminal or something.”  
  
Dean had raised his eyebrows.  “Dude, I think you’re spending too much time around your clients.”  
  
“You should get a paternity test.”  
  
He’d made a show of being offended, but deep down he’d known his brother was right.  As much he was felt connected to the girl and as much as he wanted her to be his daughter, there was really no guarantee that she truly was.  Even if it was what she believed, it didn’t make her right, necessarily.   
  
It was hard to broach the subject with Krissy, but she’d been understanding enough, admitting to Dean that she had doubts of her own.   
  
Hence the surprise visit.   
  
Now, he shifts uncomfortably on the porch steps at the Novak’s house and glances around him to take in the neighborhood.  It’s a nice area, he’s forced to admit.  The houses are kind of Stepford, all the same size with the same vinyl siding, but he can easily see the public library from where’s he’s standing, and there’s a pair of two year olds playing at the end of the cul-de-sac.  It’s the kind of place that he’d never fit in, but it’s probably nice for some people, he supposes.   
  
The Novaks have a thick, wicker-looking welcome mat that seems to crunch irritably with each movement Dean makes, and red wooden birdhouse is perched in the middle of the front yard, facing the street.   
  
Finally, after what seems like months of standing outside like an idiot, he hears rustling from the other side of the door and the bolt sliding unlocked.  The knob twists and the door opens and Dean tries not to hold his breath.  
  
The first one he sees is the girl who must be Krissy and he feels a sharp kick in the gut in the moment their eyes meet.  He’s stunned by how . . . like a person she is.  Of course, they’ve been conversing for weeks, but in his mind she was this unknown being on the other side of the computer and maybe Sam’s suspicions hit him harder than he’d thought.  But now he’s actually seeing her, for the flesh, in the first time and his heart is lodged so hard in his throat that he can’t imagine how he can ever get it out.  
  
She’s lovely.  Of course she would be – any kid of Dean’s has the genetics to be a heartbreaker.  But it’s more than that.  It’s the plaid shirt and the pulled-back hair and the sharp intellect in her hazel eyes.  The angles of her face.  There’s something _about_ her that he can’t really put his finger on that brings home the revelation that this girl, Krissy, is his.  
  
She gives him a crooked smile.  “Hey, Dean,” she says.  He hears the quiver in her voice and, hoping to ease her concerns, he gives her one back.   
  
“Heya, Krissy.”  
  
He could stand right here and stare at her for the rest of his life, he decides in that instant.   
  
But eventually he has to tear his eyes away from her to get his first look at Castiel Novak, the man who has been raising his daughter.  
  
He looks like a normal guy, Dean admits to himself.  Mid-thirties, dark hair, crystal blue eyes that sparkle with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.  He’s tall (but Dean’s taller, he notes smugly) and lean, though it’s easy to tell from the set of his shoulders that there’s some muscle hidden there, concealed by the white dress shirt he wears.  Quiet strength, is immediately what Dean’s classifies it as.  There’s a halfhearted smile that Dean has to give the guy points for attempting, even if it doesn’t reach his eyes.  He’s most definitely attractive, which Dean kinda hates.  
  
He can’t help wondering what Castiel makes of him, in his beat up jeans, black boots, and black leather jacket.   
  
They watch each other for a long time, sizing each other up and he can feel Krissy’s gaze flickering between the two of them.  Then Castiel seems to gather his bearings.   
  
“You must be Dean Winchester,” he says, and holy _God_ how is anyone’s voice that deep?  It sends a spark all the way up Dean’s spine, making him shiver.  Castiel offers his hand, which Dean takes, shaking it with his own.   
  
“I am.  And you must be Castiel.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”  Which isn’t strictly true.  But it’s more polite than telling Castiel that he hasn’t actually come up in conversation that often at all.  Krissy’s always a little vague when it comes to Castiel and it’s not like Dean wants to waste all his time hearing about this guy when he could be learning about his daughter instead.  Still, he knows enough about Castiel to fake it, he thinks.   
  
Castiel raises his eyebrows just slightly, his gaze darting to Krissy.  “Is that so,” he inquires, his voice carefully even.  “Because I didn’t know anything about your involvement in my daughter’s life until about five minutes ago.”   
  
And, okay, Dean can understand the passive-aggressive comment, since the last thing Castiel probably wanted was for Krissy’s _other_ dad to show up on his doorstep with no notice.  But, hey, this is uncharted territory for Dean too, and they might as well all make the best of it.  “Yeah, sorry about that,” he says, though he isn’t really.  “When Krissy first e-mailed me, I wasn’t too sure about what to do.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  Castiel attempts a shrug that looks more like a grimace than anything else, and then steps back.  “Please come in.”  
  
Dean follows them though the entryway and off to the right, to the kitchen.  The house is huge, easily twice the size of his own place, and his boots echo loudly on the hardwood floor and, really, it could not be more apparent that Dean and Castiel are from two different planets.  He’s not sure how they’re going to make this work, but it only makes him all the more determined to find a way.   
  
The three of them sit at the kitchen table, and Dean takes in his surroundings quickly.  Naturally, all stainless steel appliances and marble countertops.  He avoids rolling his eyes but it’s a near thing.   
  
“So, Dean,” Castiel begins, rubbing nervously at his neck.  “Maybe you should tell us a little about yourself.”  
  
“Well, what would you like to know,” seems safe enough to ask.  
  
“What is it that you do?”  
  
“I’m a fireman.”  
  
Something changes in Castiel’s face.  Though he doesn’t seem to move, Dean’s sure the eyes go cold.  “Is that so?”   
  
Dean glares back because he’s not about to be intimidated by the some asshole just because he owns a nice house or whatever.  Dean may not be made of money like _some people,_ but he gets by just fine, thank you very much, and he’s worked hard to get where he is.  “Yeah.”  He almost launches into his explanation, but suddenly the last thing he wants to do is mention his mother.  “Been working towards it since I graduated high school, so I’ve been at it a while.”  Castiel makes a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement.  “What do _you_ do?”  
  
“I’m a cardiovascular technologist,” answers Castiel primly.  Then he adds, presumably off the blank look Dean gives him, “I help implant pacemakers into people’s hearts.  I’m not a doctor; I just assist in the O.R.”  
  
Despite himself, Dean’s impressed and it comes with no small amount of annoyance.  He’d known the guy worked late nights at one of the hospitals here in Lawrence, but, of fucking course, he can’t just, like, be in the Human Resources department.  He has to save lives and shit.  “Sounds interesting,” he admits grudgingly.  “I’ve never been a huge fan of blood, myself.”  
  
Castiel tilts his head to the side and smiles, genuinely.  “Not many people are, I’m afraid.  And do you live here in Lawrence, Dean?”  
  
“Born and raised.”  He’s had opportunities to move, of course, but the most tempted he ever got was the year Sam moved out to Stanford to become the brainy nerd Dean always knew he’d be.  Facing four long years without his brother’s puppy dog eyes and big floppy hair had been terrifying, and more than once he’d entertained the idea of heading to California to join him.  But thank goodness for Bobby, who’d give him a piece of his mind when he’d heard what Dean was planning.  He’d probably have been able to find work anywhere – pretty much everywhere has fires – but leaving Rufus when he was the reason Dean even got a job at the Lawrence Fire Department in the first place, after just a few years would have been cruel.   
  
“And do you have any other family nearby?”  
  
“My brother moved back out here after college.”  
  
Castiel hums interestedly, and then glances down at Krissy.  He takes a deep breath that has Dean tensing instinctively.  “So, we will need to discuss what we want the arrangements to be.”  
  
Dean’s sure that Krissy’s double-take matches his own.  Castiel glances between them before swallowing hard and dropping his eyes to his hands.  “We’ll need to get a paternity test first, to be absolutely sure, but assuming it comes back positive, I’m guessing the two of you will want to get to know each other.”  
  
Krissy gives Castiel a radiant smile that lights up the room with its brilliance and purity.  She hugs him suddenly and Dean watches Castiel’s expression soften as he slowly pulls her close.  As they break apart Castiel turns to look at Dean.  “I do have to insist, however, that the two of you keep your distance until we’ve gotten the results.”   
  
Both Dean and Krissy open their mouths to object, but Castiel holds up a hand, stilling their arguments.  “I promise both of you that if the test comes back positive, I will be more than willing to help you establish a relationship.  But in case it’s negative, there’s no reason to make that disappointment worsened by developing affection for each other.”  
  
Dean deliberates flat-out refusing, but Castiel has a point.  “Fast,” he says firmly.   
  
“Like, tomorrow,” Krissy adds.  
  
Castiel nods back stiltedly.  “Of course.  It’ll take a few days to get the results back, but I’ll call Balthazar in the morning to arrange it.”  He pauses then tells Dean, “Balthazar is a friend of mine who works at LabCorp.  I’m sure he’ll be happy to fit us in.”  
  
When Castiel isn’t looking, Krissy mimics gagging and Dean feels a surge of pleasure at the knowledge that whoever this guy is, his daughter isn’t a fan.  Which is good since the last thing they need to do is add another father figure to this whole thing.   
  
“Fair enough,” says Dean as he rises.  He can follow Castiel’s rules for now, but once the test comes back positive he’s not going to allow himself to be pushed out, regardless of how uncomfortable it makes Castiel.   
  
The three of them walk back to the door and Dean can’t help drinking in the small smile that still graces Krissy’s face.  “What time should I meet you guys over there?”  
  
“I’ll call you.  I’m guessing Krissy has your phone number?”  
  
Dean grins lightly and shrugs.  “Yeah.  She does.”  
  
“I’ll let the two of you say goodbye in private.”  Castiel lays a hand on Krissy’s shoulder before turning and going into the dining room.  Close enough to listen for trouble, but not sentiment.  Once he’s gone and Dean and Krissy are relatively alone, he finds himself at a loss for what to say.  He wants to reassure her that everything will be fine, but he can’t do that when he isn’t at all sure that it will.  
  
Krissy saves him, though.  “I really hope you’re my dad,” she says.  She doesn’t cry, but he thinks he sees tears shining in the corners of her eyes.  
  
Dean lets out a long breath he didn’t realize he was holding and has to pull her into a hug.  “Me too, kid,” he says against her hair.  “Me too.”


End file.
